


Harry Potter and the Transing of his Gender

by scheelite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Found Family, Gen, Harry Potter Gets a Hug, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Nonbinary Character, Pre-Hogwarts, Trans Character, Trans Harry Potter, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-20
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-24 05:15:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30067227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scheelite/pseuds/scheelite
Summary: A transmasc Harry comes out and the wizarding world supports him, as we all know it would (suck it JK Rowling). Your daily dose of wholesomeness—no transphobia is allowed.
Relationships: Garrick Ollivander & Harry Potter, Rubeus Hagrid & Harry Potter
Kudos: 9





	Harry Potter and the Transing of his Gender

In addition to the usual letters for the Dursleys, the doormat held something it had never seen before—a letter for Harold.

He picked it up and stared at the thick envelope. Hector couldn’t think of anyone who would write to him, yet there it was, with an address written so plainly there could be no mistake:

_Mx. H. Potter_  
_The Cupboard under the Stairs_  
_4 Privet Drive_  
_Little Whinging_  
_Surrey_

He collected the other letters and walked back to the kitchen, astonished. He began to unpeel the waxen crest from the back, but before he could finish, the letter was yanked away. He looked up to see Dudley waving the letter at his father.

“Dad!” shouted Dudley, “Harvey’s got a letter!”—Dudley didn’t really call him Harvey, but Holden liked to pretend his _other_ name didn’t exist—“Where’s _my_ letter?”

“Has she?” Mr. Dursley chose to ignore his son’s demand for yet another birthday present. “Give it here.”

“That’s _mine_!” cried Hugo, trying to snatch it back. Mr. Dursley shooed him away, reading the letter’s address. His face turned beet red. He flipped over the envelope, examining the other side. His face turned white.

“P-P-Petunia!” he gasped.

***

As the letters kept coming, what Herman found most remarkable about the sender was not their doggedness, but the way they addressed the envelopes. He was _Mx. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive, Surrey_. He was _Mx. H. Potter, Room 17, Railview Hotel, Cokeworth_. He was _Mx. H. Potter_ , no matter where the Dursleys hid him. Not “girl,” or “potty,” or his birth name. To someone, he was _Mx. H. Potter_ , and the freedom of it felt like flying.

He whispered his alias over and over to himself as he lay on the floor of the broken-down house: _Mx. H. Potter._ Over time, the _x_ shifted to an _r_ and he became _Mr. H. Potter_ , but Hogan barely registered the shift. It had seemed the natural thing to do.

He looked over at Dudley’s watch. Five minutes remained until Mr. H. Potter’s birthday began. Horace smiled to himself, slowly counting down the seconds. But when it finally reached midnight—

_BOOM._

***

Despite Hunter’s birthday wish, the new name didn’t stick. A half-giant burst in, calling him by the old one, and the illusion broke, although he had to admit that as much as he hated his given name, it was much more tolerable when written on a birthday cake. Oh, and he was a witch. That was pretty cool.

However, when he finally got to read his letter, he saw it was addressed in the same, wondrous way as the others:

_Mx. H. Potter_  
_The Floor_  
_Hut-on-the-Rock_  
_The Sea_

He eagerly opened it up. _Dear Mx. Potter_. Mx. Potter!

After his name, no other familiarities were to be found in the letter. In fact, it was quite baffling. He was a witch? He was going to Hogwarts? And his aunt and uncle had _refused to tell him_? And his parents—

His parents had been murdered by Voldemort.

“Hagrid,” he said quietly, “I think you must have made a mistake. I don’t think I can be a witch.”

Hagrid disagreed. So Henry reconsidered. Now that he came to think of it, odd things would happen when he was upset or angry. The time when Aunt Petunia had refused to give him a short haircut, he had awoken on his tear-stained pillow to cropped, boyish hair and no memory of having cut it. When Dudley’s gang was chasing him, he had hidden on the school roof, carried upwards by a gust of wind. And hadn’t he set that boa constrictor on Dudley?

So he was a wizard—no, witch. Hagrid had said witch. As he drifted off under Hagrid’s coat, he couldn’t stop thinking about his cousin’s new piggy tail. Although Dudley’s magical transformation had been a bit cruel in hindsight, it gave him a strange hope. With magic, he could be anything.

He didn’t want to be a pig, though; there was no need to steal Dudley’s limelight.

***

The next morning, he and Hagrid set off for London. Upon their arrival at the Leaky Cauldron, Hadley learned that he was famous. He was the Girl who Lived, instantly recognizable to everyone in the inn.

“Welcome back, Miss Potter, welcome back,” said the old barman.

Halsey was shocked by the attention. He didn’t know how to respond, but the praises kept coming regardless.

“Doris Crockford, Miss Potter, can’t believe I’m meeting you at last.”

_Miss Potter?_

“So proud, Miss Potter, I’m just so proud.”

_That’s not me._

“Always wanted to shake your hand—I’m all of a flutter.”

_I was promised another name._

“Delighted, Miss Potter, just can’t tell you. Diggle’s the name, Dedalus Diggle.”

_Please go away._

Hank tried to keep a smile on his face as he shook his admirers’ hands. He didn’t want to be rude—he was trying very hard not to cry. Where had the _Mx. H. Potter_ of the letters gone? He had hoped for a new start, but the envelope had lied to him. In the Muggle world, they would have seen the short hair and Dudley’s hand-me-downs and he would have been _Mr. Potter_ , thank you very much. He had been looking forward to it; he was finally free of Aunt Petunia’s interjection of, “No, that’s my _NIECE_ —a _GIRL_. _SHE_ cut _HER_ hair short _HERSELF_ , the nasty little thing.”

These people were treating him as if his aunt was still at his shoulder. The thought of it made Hugh want to crumble, so he fixed himself up with a smile.

He wanted to go back to his closet.

***

Despite the rough start, Harlan perked up considerably while browsing the magical stores. Slowly, he checked off each item on his Hogwarts supply list. His parents’ vault at Gringotts had had enough money enough fill up the Dursleys’ entire house with magical supplies; Hagrid had to pry him away from the gold cauldrons (although he could afford them!). He skipped delightedly from store to store. And while he was a bit suspicious of his robes’ similarity to a dress, the other boy in the store had been trying on the same ones, so he supposed it was all right.

The last, most exciting thing he needed to get was a wand. According to Hagrid, Ollivanders was the best wand-shop around. Since that was the place to go, there they went. As he and Hagrid wandered in, the storeowner, summoned by a bell, emerged from a back room to greet them

After the usual spectacle of learning a new acquaintance’s memory of his parents’ death, Herbert decided that he liked the wand-seller. They explained their process as they worked, even though they had probably done the same for thousands of students before him. And even as wand after wand failed to meet their standards for Harrison, their enthusiasm never wavered; in fact, it seemed that the more wands they pulled from the shelves, the happier Mx. Ollivander became.

As the floor was slowly overcome with piles of discarded wand-boxes, Mx. Ollivander had to ask Hagrid to leave. There was simply no space for the half-giant in the crowded store. Hagrid grumbled, but obliged. “Be careful not to step on any wands on the way out!” cried Mx. Ollivander, barely looking up from their work.

After a while, Hudson needed a break. His arm hurt from brandishing so many wands. As he sat down, Mx. Ollivander tidied the store, still chit-chatting about their profession. “Did you know,” the wand-maker began, “a wizard’s most intimate relationship is with their wand. The wand chooses the wizard, yes, but an understanding between both parties is necessary.” They demonstrated with their own wand, re-shelving a legion of boxes. They looked back at Hubert.

Hans gulped. His fears had been realized. He was inadequate. The wands hated him.

Ollivander, noting the panic on Hayden’s face, backtracked a little. “No, no—a wand is like a soulmate. Yours is somewhere in this store,” they chuckled.

“Why is it taking so long?” Homer asked.

“You are a curious case, Potter.”

“Why?”

“In all my years, I’ve come to know a bit about wands. Different materials fit different personalities.” They paused, as if coming to some great conclusion. “And certain genders tend to gravitate towards certain combinations of wood and core.

“Usually, people are fairly straightforward. Take your friend Hagrid. He’s a man—well, man-giant—and has been confident of it since birth. His wand reflected that. He’s what you’d call cisgender.”

Hercules was unimpressed. So was he, obviously. “And?”

“And… and… some people aren’t. There’s something I’ve noticed about you, but before I tell you, you need to remember that you are free to identify however you like, regardless of your wand type.

“Dear Potter, there’s an incongruity between you and the wands suited to young women. You’ve tried on a few nonbinary and agender wands as well, but they were similarly inadequate. Now, before we come to any conclusion, I’d like you to try this one—ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy.” They handed Harper another wand.

That one failed as well. “That’s a bit closer,” noted Mx. Ollivander. “How about—I wonder—holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.” They handed him the wand.

Harley took it. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He glanced over at Mx. Ollivander, who hadn’t yet snatched this wand away as they had the others. They were looking expectantly at the tip of Hyperion’s wand, fidgeting nervously. Unsure of what to do, Humphrey gave it a wave. A stream of sparks flew out the end, illuminating the dusty air.

Mx. Ollivander clapped their hands together. “Oh, bravo! Yes, that’ll do. That’ll do well, only—how curious… how very curious…”

They took Horatio’s wand from him and put it back in its box.

“Sorry,” said Howard, “but what’s curious?”

They wrapped the box in brown paper. “This wand is the wand of a young man. Is that what you are?”

Hanley felt himself blush. “No.”

“That’s perfectly valid, but first—do you ever wish you were a bloke?”

“Doesn’t everybody?”

Ollivander shook their head. “That’s not very cis of you, my boy.”

Despite the circumstances, Horton felt himself smile. Mx. Ollivander had called him _my boy_. Boy!

Wait.

Hmmm…

“Maybe I am a boy,” he admitted. “It makes me really happy when people call me _he_ , but I know I’m a— a _girl_.” Hussein almost whispered the last word, scrunching his face as if _girl_ was the foulest insult imaginable. “Aunt Petunia told me. My body is wrong.”

Ollivander smiled. “Son, despite what the Muggles may tell you, there is no one body type associated with each gender. Take Hagrid. His body is wildly different from Griphook’s, but they’re both male, yes?”

Henley nodded, picturing the goblin who had brought him to his Gringotts vault earlier. The two couldn’t be more different, yet they shared a common identity.

“Why can’t you be a boy too?” questioned the wand-maker.

“Because— because everybody already knows I’m not. All day long, strangers have called me _Miss Potter_.” Heath was becoming exasperated. He wasn’t enjoying this reminder of his wrongness.

“But you do admit that you would prefer to consider yourself a boy, if not for that.”

“Yes.” The answer was out of his mouth before he could think about it.

Ollivander knelt down next to Hadrian, handing him his boxed wand. “There’s a word for that, son. It’s transgender. You’re a trans boy, Mr. Potter.”

Hamlet felt like crying again, but this time it was from something breaking inside him rather than the strain of holding himself together. He hugged his new wand to his chest. “I…I am?”

“Yes.”

“But what about everyone else?”

“This isn’t about them. This is about _you._ The wizarding world will understand.”

“And the Muggles?”

Ollivander took a deep breath. “I won’t lie to you, boy; a few Muggles (J.K. Rowling comes to mind) are notoriously transphobic. If you ever encounter such a person, Mr. Potter, remember that every magical being stands behind you, as they have stood behind me. You are strong. _We_ are strong. Their hate is unfounded.”

At this, Halbert cried. He wasn’t used to being loved in this blind, unconditional manner. Ollivander dried his tears with a levitating handkerchief.

“Thanks,” he sniffled.

Ollivander nodded in sympathy, thinking back to the days before they had realized their nonbinary identity, when they had considered themself the only queer one. They remembered how important it had been to finally feel seen, to see themself reflected in the world around them. “Anything, Potter.”

Hades shook the last of his tears off of his glasses. “What do I do now? Do I just tell everyone that I’m a boy, like I told you?”

The wand-maker smiled. “When you’ve decided on a name, identity, and set of pronouns that fit, a certain spell can help you out. Notice how you started using they/them pronouns automatically for me? You called me Mx. Ollivander, despite my _magnificent_ beard.” They jutted out their chin, displaying it. Harris laughed. “There’s a small, harmless bit of magic that suggests to the open-minded how to best be respectful. It frees us from harmful assumptions.

“The Ministry used a similar thing many years ago with You-Know-Who to avoid the taboo on his name. It’s simple magic, easy enough for an inexperienced first-year.” They grabbed a quill and a piece of parchment from their desk and scribbled down a few lines. They folded it up, tucking the note under the string of the wand-box’s wrapping.

“Read that when you’re ready. It’ll tell you what to do. And there’s one more thing: at Hogwarts, speak to Professor McGonagall. She runs a club of sorts for people like us. When you’re older, you may want to avoid a girl’s puberty—the Professor will help you with that transfiguration when the time comes. But for now, simply present how you wish, and the spell will protect you from misgendering.”

Haywood could hardly believe his ears. He could simply be himself—no questions asked. It was all he had ever wanted. He smiled. “Thanks, Mx. Ollivander.”

They nodded cordially and held out their hand. “That’ll be seven galleons, please.”

***

Hadwin nearly danced out the store. A storm of potential names was raging in his head. He caught all that he could, trying to figure out which lip movement sufficiently filled the gap in _Mr. H. Potter_.

_Hansel Potter_

_Hazen Potter_

_Huxley Potter_

_Hershel Potter_

_Harry Potter._

_Harry Potter?_

_Harry Potter!_

That would work. _Harry Potter._ He liked the taste of it. _Mr. Harry Potter._ It sounded like him.

He found Hagrid sitting at a table outside a store, surrounded by Harry’s things. He was in the midst of a serious conversation with Harry’s pet snowy owl.

Harry made a mental reminder that he had yet to name his new companion. That could be tomorrow’s problem, though; he had done quite enough naming for one day. He waved at Hagrid from across the alley. Although Ollivander’s spell could do the work for him, he felt that Hagrid deserved to learn who he was face-to-face. And he needed to test out Ollivander’s promise of acceptance in the wizarding world.

***

Harry sat down across from the half-giant. “H-Hagrid?” he said softly.

Hagrid leaned closer, moving the owl’s cage onto his other knee so he could see Harry. “What is it?”

“Erm…” All at once, Harry got very hot. His heart was pounding as though it was trying to escape from his chest. He pushed his glasses further up his nose with shaky hands. “Could I tell you something?”

“’Course,” said Hagrid. “Anything.”

Harry took a deep breath. He was still scared, so he took another, hoping to stretch the moments before he had to speak. He chewed on his lower lip. “I don’t want to be a witch,” he said to the books in front of him. “I’m not a witch.”

“What are yeh, then?” Hagrid chuckled.

“A wizard.” He had done it, so why was he still sweating? He wiped his palms on his robes and looked up at Hagrid, daring him to challenge it.

Hagrid stood, inadvertently knocking the table to the side with his knees. As Harry’s books tumbled to the floor, he pulled him into a crushing hug. Harry didn’t have to worry about his heart beating out of his chest any longer. It was quite secure in Hagrid’s embrace.

Hagrid kneeled down next to him. He placed a hand on each of Harry’s shoulders, looking at him seriously. “That was incredibly brave o’ you.”

Harry gave him a weak smile.

“What’s yer name, then?”

“I was thinking—maybe Harry?”

“Well, that does it! Yer a wizard, Harry!”

Hagrid straightened up the table and together they ordered some dessert: another birthday cake. This one had Harry’s name on it.

***

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: This story features 48 different names starting with H.  
> Thanks for reading them all :)


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